His and Hers
by Crimson Bttrfly
Summary: Falling in love is a bit like being caught in an avalanche: You're going about life then, suddenly, the ground rips out from under you, and you're a goner. But, every love story has two sides. A story told from two perspectives. ByaxHisa.
1. His: First Impressions

**Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to _Bleach_ nor do I profit from my endeavors.

**Chapter Summary:** Byakuya meets his father's nurse.

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**His: First Impression**

_'__One. Two. Three.' _ He counted the beats and matched his swords positions: Parry. Repost. Parry. The words and movements seared into his brain. He wanted to burn the motions into his muscles. He wanted the motions to become reflexive—like drawing breath.

'_One. Two. Three.'_ His inner voice rose above the outside commotion until it felt like he was screaming in his head. Unable to drown out the murmurs, swishes of silk, and clacking of doors any longer, Byakuya stopped mid-counter, snapping his head to the side.

There was a row in the House of Kuchiki.

Repressing the urge to roll his eyes, Byakuya shook his head. _'What now?'_ he thought, exasperated. He rarely paid the manor's rows any heed. There were so _many_. The servants became agitated over the most trifling things. _'To have so little time and so little sense.'_

"Lord Byakuya," his body servant called. She was a young woman, dressed in dark colors. All of the maids were young, attractive, and garbed in dark colors. The House's steward plucked the girls from the districts of Rukongai. Due to their weak spiritual power, they usually faded within a few years only to be replaced with a new crop of young maids. His family justified this practice as an act of charity—noblesse oblige. Byakuya, however, suspected a darker motive: His family bored of the maids, and they did not want the hassle of dismissing them once they became an irritation so they selected ones that would die in due time.

"Your noble father's new nurse arrives. She is lovely. Lord Byakuya should come see," the maid beamed. Gracefully, she gestured for him to join in the ruckus.

Byakuya scowled at the woman, irritated by her impertinence. "I am training, Xiren," he scolded.

She averted her gaze and smiled. "Forgive my intrusion, milord." Obsequiously, she bowed and left him to his training.

He spied her through the open doors. She was going to meet the new nurse, no doubt, he noted ruefully. "Every little thing," he muttered, shaking his head.

Clearing his mind, he returned to practicing with his bokken. The wooden hilt pressed tightly against the palm of his hand, and, with great force, he struck in a downward motion. He continued to practice this motion until he could no longer bear the incessant noise emanating from the manor. Looking up, he descried a cavalcade of servants scurrying through the halls. All of them were speaking of the new nurse as if she was a person of great importance.

He caught a few stray words on the thin air: "Lord Sōjun insists that we treat her as a guest during her stay at the manor."

"Lord Sōjun forbids the House from mistreating her. He said that any perceived infraction will be swiftly punished—servant and noble alike."

"Lord Sōjun has arranged for her to be quartered in the Inner Court."

Byakuya dropped his arms to his side, and his brows pulled together. Briefly, he considered the veracity of the servants' remarks. If true, his concern for his father grew exponentially. His father had never spoken a harsh word in his life. He was a gentle passive soul. Threatening the family and liveried servants would mean that his health was rapidly declining. Those threats indicated that his father wanted his confidences shielded from the prying eyes and ears of the manor.

The staff, however, was prone to exaggerations and irrational bouts of hysteria. Byakuya never understood their strange fluttering behavior. For the most part, his family treated the servants reasonably enough. A few of his female cousins were prone to fits, but the maids were never severely punished.

Despite his skepticism, Byakuya could not deny that something felt _off_. His father's condition had worsened, forcing him to take a leave of absence at the Sixth Division. On the recommendation of the family physician, they had purchased a nurse from the Fourth to take care of him. They had been very specific in their request—they would consider only the most promising healers. Sōjun, then, made the final selection.

Apparently, _attractiveness _was one of his father's requirements, Byakuya observed mordantly. The house staff had raved about her frail tortured beauty, likening her to the literary figure Lin Tai-yu. That reference did not inspire any confidence in Byakuya, having never been drawn to frail tortured women.

Curiosity bested him, however, and he threaded his way through the manor toward his father's quarters. Upon arrival, the servants bowed at his presence and parted the way for him to see the nurse. She stood demurely in front of his father.

The rumors had been true. She was a delicate woman who looked to be about his age—late adolescence. She stood at scarcely five feet. Her features were finely sculpted; her skin was white and smooth like porcelain; and, pins swept her dark hair off her shoulders. Catching her gaze, he felt an intense sorrow pierce his heart. There was something in her eyes—some emotion lingered in her look that he did not quite comprehend.

"You are the nurse," he announced of her in a terse voice.

She lifted her head in response. "Yes," she said after observing him for a moment. Remembering her manners, she bowed politely.

Byakuya watched her form bend. She moved wearily under the heavy scarlet robes that adorned her. He had seen those robes before. They belonged to his family, he was certain. They had been locked away in storage. Briefly, he wondered why his father had insisted that she wear them. He was sure that it had been under his father's direction that she be dressed in the kimono. The servants would not have been so bold, and she appeared uncomfortably encumbered by the weight of the fine cloth. In fact, if he was not mistaken, he believed her to be dissatisfied with all the finery.

His eyes lingered on her too long. He knew because she caught his gaze when she looked up, and his heart sank. A warm sting spread across his cheeks and down his neck. He had never felt that strange prickling sensation before, but he was sure it was a sign of intense loathing.

"I am Byakuya Kuchiki," he stated firmly, giving a slight bow.

She bowed her head. "It is nice to make your acquaintance."

Byakuya stared at her. Thoughts ceased to form in his head as he looked at her. There was something so engrossing about her expression. She was a strange girl, gazing up at him with such a hooded expression. He did not know what to make of it. Usually, the servants greeted him with a look of admiration or of respect. Neither admiration nor respect shone in her eyes. Her look was unreadable, but it was definitely _not_ one of eager willingness to please. A strange melancholy emanated from her. Her reiatsu was a dark one.

"Come, Hisana," Sōjun commanded, catching the strange look playing across his son's face.

"Yes, Sir Kuchiki," she murmured turning to him.

"Sōjun, please," he said opening the door to his room. He waited for her to lightly step across the threshold before he addressed his son, "Your form looked good in the courtyard, Byakuya," he stated gently.

Impassively, Byakuya nodded.

Sōjun gave his son an obliging glance before closing the door behind him.

Byakuya frowned at his father's sudden familiarity with the strange woman. A strange burning sensation rose in his stomach. Even though his mother had died giving birth to him decades ago, Byakuya could not imagine his father with another woman. It was an irrational feeling that sieged him. This Hisana was merely his father's nurse. His father was exhausted and wanted her to attend to his needs. Byakuya quietly chastised himself for jumping to the conclusion that his father was behaving indecently.

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**Author's Notes:** Written a while back. Thought I would share. Thanks for reading!


	2. Hers: First Impressions

**Summary:** Hisana meets her new patient and his son.

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**Hers: First Impressions**

It was Hisana's first day at the Kuchiki manor.

Days prior, her Vice Captain had summoned her and three other women. A seated officer informed them of the reason for their summoning: They excelled at healing. The officer told them that, due to Vice Captain Sōjun Kuchiki's condition, the Kuchiki family wanted to purchase the services of a nurse. The Vice Captain had assured them that, once the illness had passed, they could resume their duties at the Fourth. Vice Captain Sōjun Kuchiki and Captain Ginrei Kuchiki had arrived shortly afterward. Sōjun had appeared so wan and frail. He needed the assistance of his valet to keep him standing straight. He had observed each of the women with great contemplation, but Hisana had known with a look that he had made his choice much earlier. When he had named her as his nurse, she had felt excited.

She did not know why at the time.

The excitement, however, wore thin as a body servant dressed her in a scarlet kimono. She had refused at first, but the servant did not hear any of it. She had been tasked with a job from her Lord, and she was going to fulfill it no matter the cost.

It took nearly two hours before Hisana was "prepared" to meet Sōjun. When the torture was complete, she was pushed out into the halls and escorted to his quarters. He received her with a smile—a tired cracked smile. He looked so ill. The seeds of consumption had been watered, and the illness blossomed deep within the man.

She smiled at him, hoping that her gesture would give him some relief. "Sir Kuchiki," she murmured quietly to herself. The sudden presence of Sōjun's son, however, interrupted their greeting. Out of seemingly nowhere, Byakuya Kuchiki appeared. His eyes brightly lit his sun kissed face. He had pulled his hair back into a haphazard ponytail, and a few stray strands stuck to his face, sealed by sweat.

"You are the nurse." He sounded petulant.

"Yes," she responded softly. She bowed shortly after acknowledging him, and her gaze locked onto his. He was so young and full of spirit. The rumors had been true. The glint in his eye betrayed him at once. He was wild and brazen.

He gave a shallow bow. "I am Byakuya Kuchiki," he announced proudly.

"It is nice to make your acquaintance."

Sōjun's voice interrupted the pair's interaction. "Come, Hisana," he said gently.

She flinched at the ragged sound of his voice. How could she have been so careless? He had been standing there so sick and tired. She had been cruel to leave him in such a state. "Yes, Sir Kuchiki."

Catching her eye, he smiled down at her, "Sōjun, please."

She instantly felt the color in her rising. She knew that she could never refer to him so familiarly. He was a noble, a Vice Captain, and an accomplished scholar. It would have been an offense to all that she knew to refuse him the respect that he had earned.

"I am unsure of how to proceed," Sōjun said, closing the door behind them.

Hisana turned to face him.

"I have only had male physicians. I don't…"

Her smile broke his words. "No worries, Sir Kuchiki."

"Sōjun, please," he correct.

"Sir Sōjun," she compromised.

He grinned knowingly at her.


	3. His: Peripatetic Paths

**Summary:** After a brief encounter with his father's nurse, Byakuya is left feeling great dismay.

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**His: Peripatetic Paths**

Byakuya stood. Exhaustion racked his body. Sweat dripped down his face, dampening the collar of his kimono. His muscles trembled from fatigue, threatening to betray him without so much as a moment's notice.

Yet, he stood.

His fingers remained wrapped around his precious Zanpakutō, Senbonzakura. His hands cramped from hours of exertion, and, lifting his arm slightly, he adjusted his handle on the sword.

"Useless," he murmured to himself. He was absolutely useless at the moment. He had overworked his already strained and knotted muscles. He could barely lift his arms; they felt like jelly. They were about as useful as jelly.

Sighing, defeated, Byakuya turned and sheathed his blade. It had been a long time since he felt so tired. Had he lost stamina? He considered the possibilities, meticulously tearing through his mental catalogue of trainings and lessons. Perhaps it was the new addition to the household? Despite her diminutive size and station at the Fourth, she possessed a substantial amount of reiatsu. He was practically swimming in her essence every time he neared his father's wing of the house.

Instinctively, he stopped short. He could feel something or someone. It was a strange feeling as if someone was watching him. He had honed the sense from years of torment at the hands of Yoruichi Shihōin. When he turned, he was greeted by a cold panic. His heart dropped, his cheeks flushed, and he felt the awful sensation of rolling prickles that he had experience for the first time only weeks prior. The source of his sudden alarm? His father's nurse. She stood with a shoulder braced against a doorframe. Her lines formed a long diagonal from the frame to the floor. A calm serene look smoothed the lines of her face as she observed him.

Byakuya's eyes tentatively flicked up to meet her gaze. He was dumbfounded. Replies, commands, admonishments—they all flew out of his head. He had no clever retort ready. The ones he did have were fashioned years ago, and none of those quips would make sense in this situation. He was not familiar enough with the nurse to tease her. They only crossed paths when he needed to speak with his father or if he caught her reading medical volumes in the family's library.

Admonishing her would likely provoke his ill father.

Again, he caught her gaze. His lips twitched as he considered requesting her to leave, but she silenced him with a small smile and a bow of her head. Without a word, her eyes bid him good night as she withdrew into her lodging.

Byakuya watched in silence. There was something so vexing about her. He wanted immediately to know everything and nothing about her at the same time. He had never known such ambivalence in his life.

Byakuya did not see her in the weeks after. She remained neatly tucked away in either her quarters or his father's room, where he could occasionally hear the two conversing. He never stopped long enough or listened hard enough to make out the topics of their discussions. At times, he could hear her or his father's laughter resonate through the thin rice paper doors.

For some reason, their behavior annoyed him. Their relationship seemed improper, a little too déclassé. She appeared to be about Byakuya's age, after all, and she was a peasant. What could his father possibly find interesting about _her_? What valuable insight could _she_ offer?

Captiously, he wondered how long it would take for rumor and innuendo to sweep through the manor and spill into the community. It would be a scandal. A sizable one, he imagined. His father was usually so quiet and well mannered. No one would expect it.

Byakuya shook his head, banishing the low thoughts with a sigh, and he retired to his chambers to study the classical works of philosophers and poets. Nothing, however, kept his mind quiet or kept his attention focused. After hours of struggling to memorize passages with only his fractured resolve to keep him company, he turned his attention to the door. He kept it cracked so that the refreshing night breeze could cool the room. The thick aroma of trimmed grass and summery flora filled his lungs, distracting him further.

It was late, and he could not sleep. Insomnia struck him at such strange intervals. _'I need to work harder,'_ he rebuked himself, _'I would be tired then.'_

Quietly, he traced the empty corridors, letting his feet do the thinking. They led him the manor's sizable library, and, instinctively, he peeled back the door. A few soundless steps into the room, and he saw _her_. She sat hunched over one of the mahogany tables. A stack of books towered over her.

"Good evening," he stated, irritated by her presence.

No response.

This offended him. He circled around the table to find her asleep. Her cheek pressed against a page of a book of poetry. He repressed the urge to roll his eyes and sneer at her lack of breeding. Instead, he stared down at her for a few moments.

She was pretty-ish. Her hair, usually pinned up in some elaborate design of the day, fell loose around her face and shoulders. It was thick and black as nightfall. Her kimono, also, was thinner. She had changed out whatever finery the servants had selected for her to wear. In its place, she donned a plain yukata. The fabric was thin, allowing him to see her form. She was a solider, no doubt. While thin, she had muscle definition in her arms and legs. She knew how to wield a weapon and how to execute a flash-step.

Briefly, he looked her over to see if she was carrying her Zanpakutō. In true Fourth fashion, she was without it. For the second time, he repressed the urge to telegraph his disgust. At least there was evidence that she trained with it, unlike many of her colleagues.

He took a few strides forward when he heard her stir. Instinctively, he turned to find her sitting up, bleary eyed and drowsy. When she caught him staring at her, she immediately straightened and ran a hand through her hair. "I am so sorry, Sir Kuchiki," she said, bowing her head respectfully.

He turned his attention to the bookshelf in front of him, occupying his mind with titles related to flora. None of the books looked particularly interesting, but he needed an excuse to ignore her. She was a peasant, after all. There was very little need for pleasantries. He rarely acknowledged the servants unless he had a request.

"I saw you training a few weeks ago. Your form was very good."

He ignored her; instead, choosing to run his fingers along the spines of the books.

Hisana rolled her eyes. A wry grin thinned her lips as she shook her head. She sighed, and her sigh pulled Byakuya's attention back to the family's new pet. She stood, arranging the books in order and selecting one to take with her. It was the book of poetry, which seemed strange considering the other books were all medical texts or journals.

"Your kido, though, could use some work," she stated drily before moving toward the door.

Byakuya's eyes widened at her observation, given so lightly in his direction. He turned to face her, but all he saw was the back of her head as she reached for the door. _'How impertinent,'_ he complained to himself as he watched her leave.

He, however, could not shake the possibility that she was correct in her assessment.


	4. Hers: Peripatetic Paths

**Summary:** Hisana struggles to find her place at the Kuchiki Manor

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**Hers: Peripatetic Paths**

Hisana sat, quietly reading from a medical text stolen from the World of the Living. On rare occasion, she sweet-talked a male friend from the Ninth into grabbing books from the World of the Living when he happened upon a medical establishment or university. With promises of sake or homemade goods, she would convince him, and, when he could, he would steal texts for her.

She suspected he wanted _more_ than sake or freshly made foods (which she similarly had to bribe one of her _other male friends_ to make for her because she never had the time or patience to cook for another). When she was feeling particularly charitable, she threw a few coquettish smiles and laughs in his direction.

She could be despicable at times. So unabashedly despicable. She _loathed_ this trait. Her fickleness wounded her on review. She knew better. She was capable of better. Yet, she succumbed to the horrible woman that resided deep in her heart. The void had existed the moment she abandoned her loved one. It had only grown with time, threatening to swallow what was left of her. To embrace the darkness or to retreat? It was a decision that was easy for some, but not for her. Never for her.

Sighing with heavy breath, she turned to her Zanpakutō. The simple tantō rested on the table; its reflection painted the burnished wood. The guard was a simple rectangular design, and the hilt was red.

_Void_.

The word etched into her mind's eye. Was that what she was? Her heart? A dark void? An abyss?

Exhaling, she groaned at the whirlwind of thoughts assailing her. Breathless, she stood and walked to the door leading to the courtyard. She threw back the door, and she inhaled a deep fragrant breath. Yard trimmings and wild flowers filled her senses and eased her mind.

_Byakuya_.

She lifted her head as her eyes narrowed on the motion that swirled only a stone's throw away. He was training on a kido lesson. She remembered it from her academy days, and she smiled.

He was _good_. Really _good_. She had not been quite as adept when she was learning kido. She was an advanced kido master, having honed her skills at the Fourth and because she enjoyed the art. But, when she was at Byakuya's stage, she had been mediocre.

Quietly braced against the wooden doorframe, she watched. His lines and precision distracted her. _'He's good, but…'_ Her stomach sank as she recalled watching him practice before, when she was entertaining Sōjun during his treatments. _'He's not as attentive.'_ Just as she made the latter observation, he transitioned to swordplay.

She repressed the urge to frown. She knew less about swordplay and proper swordsmanship. She was less interested in learning her Zanpakutō. It scared her—she did not embrace retrospection and self-realization with the same zeal as Byakuya. There was too much self-loathing to overcome for her part.

He stopped suddenly, and he inspected his blade.

Had it become deficient? She wondered before ascertaining his true reason for stopping so abruptly. _Fatigue_. He had become tired. There was no telling how long he had been shadowboxing in the late afternoon. Likely, he had been training for a while. It seemed that was all he did—train and study.

For a brief moment, a sensation of immense pity crawled up from her stomach to her chest, chilling her heart. He didn't have anything else but his family and his honor to protect. He was isolated within the thick, impenetrable walls of the Kuchiki estate. No friends. No true mentors. Nothing existed outside the bubble of his family.

So lost in thought, she almost did not sense him returning her stare. His color rose, and he appeared a cross between panicked and mortified to see her.

She could tell he wanted to say something to her. _'He wants to scold me, no doubt_,' she mused, not daring to break his gaze. Before he could pelt her with ill-formed accusations, she forced a conciliatory smile and bowed her head. She gave him a parting glance before withdrawing into her chambers, careful to shut the door soundlessly behind her.

Weeks passed.

She treated Sōjun, who was always marvelous company to keep. Despite his pulmonary illness, he was quick to engage her in conversation and brandish a few jokes when she treated him. He was a lovely man, and she admired his strength and poise with all her heart. It pained her when his wellbeing took a turn for the worse; and, her mood soared when his condition improved. But, no matter his health, he was always a paragon of proper manner. She loved his steadiness and his tranquility.

When she left his company to let him rest, her mood plummeted. All she had to keep her mind occupied was the oppressive darkness and silence that lingered in every hall and space in that capacious manor. It was suffocating.

Most nights, she retreated to her chambers where she tried to bury her thoughts in the medical text from the World of the Living. Other nights, when she worried that she might be running out of material, she traced her steps to the Kuchiki library. It was large, containing all of Soul Society's vast history. It had fewer texts on medicinal treatments. Most of the books on medicine were limited to herbalist studies that were largely outdated.

Dissatisfied with the three books that she had selected, she pulled a text on poetry. Lord Sōjun often quoted poetry to her, and she grew to love the words that he spoke with such ease. Perhaps she would love to read those words? It was a shot in the dark, but she grabbed _The Tales of Ise_ from the shelf, and she read and read and read some more until she drifted into a fitful slumber.

Hours passed, and her mind conjured dark haunting images of her past. It was always the same sin, repeating in an endless loop. The climax—her final treachery—began in startling clarity, but it stopped short and suddenly. Something tugged at the strings of her conscious mind, and she opened her weary eyes. It took her a few moments to locate the disturbance that roused her.

_Byakuya_.

She snapped up; her back went ramrod straight, and, nervously, she raked her fingers through her hair, quick to massage the tension building in her head. "I am so sorry, Sir Kuchiki," she said, bowing low. Her eyes locked on the grain of the wooden table.

Silence, thick and stifling, settled between them. Not one to marinate in a blistering quiet, she murmured a soft, "I saw you training a few weeks ago. Your form was very good."

More silence blanketed the room.

Hisana's eyes flicked up before falling to the wood of the table again. A small impish grin curled the corners of her lips, and she shook her head. _'How expected,'_ she sighed to herself. _'Alright,'_ she mused, standing. She got it. He was ignoring her, and it was _purposeful_. He was making her _pay_ for something. What? She was unsure.

With graceful fluttering movements, she stacked the books in proper order before plucking the one on poetry from the tower. She could just as easily finish the collection in her room if her presence was such an intrusion for the young lord.

Taking a step from the table, she stopped abruptly and indulged her inner Rukongai street rat. "Your kido, though, could use some work," she murmured softly before continuing toward the door.

She could feel his reiatsu rush toward her. _'No matter,'_ she thought sardonically to herself as she peeled back the door. _'No matter at all.'_ She could easily limit her contact with Byakuya if necessary.


	5. Hers: Procurement

**Summary:** Sōjun and Hisana discuss Byakuya's training.

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**Hers: Procurement **

Quietly, Hisana set Sōjun's breakfast. He sat in thought as he read the book of poetry that she had retrieved from the library. "One of my favorites," he murmured more so to himself than to her.

"I hoped that you would like it," she said sweetly, tipping back the teapot. Seconds later, the room filled with the smell of jasmine and honey. Hisana inhaled the fragrance deep in her lungs, where she savored it for a few moments, burning the sensation into her memory. She was certain that she would never drink such a fine tea again. "Your color is returning," she noted as she stirred his medicine into the tea. Part of her felt cruel to ruin such a fine brew with such an odious-tasting elixir.

He gazed at her. He had piercing blue eyes, yet he never wielded them as a weapon. No, Sōjun was perfectly agreeable on all accounts. He was well mannered, polite, erudite, and handsome, and, most of all, he possessed the gentlest soul of any of the Vice Captains. _'How could such a lovely man have such a detestable son?'_ she wondered to herself as she handed him the teacup.

"I apologize in advance for the taste." She cringed just watching him take a sip. "So sorry," she mouthed as he imbibed.

He shook his head, smiling. "Your empathy is appreciated." He shuddered at the aftertaste, but Hisana had a cup of unadulterated tea ready to wash away the medicine's acerbic properties.

In a single gulp, he swallowed the steaming hot tea. "I keep hoping that it is possible to burn the flavor away," he noted, staring at the bottom of his drained cup.

"Nope," Hisana said confidently, "Impossible. Trust me. The Fourth has tried all sorts of ways to modify the flavor of this compound. It just seems to get _worse_ if tampered with."

Sōjun smiled at her. "How was your evening?"

Hisana returned the smile. "I read a few articles. Oh, I bumped into Sir Kuchiki."

"Which one?" Sōjun asked perfectly earnestly.

Hisana's smile widened. "Sir Byakuya."

"My son," he said hesitantly, as if he was bracing himself for the bad news, "how did that interaction go?"

Hisana restrained her dissatisfaction by pursing her lips and widening her eyes. "I saw him training a few days ago."

"He trains every day. Several times. I have never met a soul more dedicated to becoming a member of the Gotei 13."

"He is very talented," Hisana said, nodding her approval.

"His kido could use a little work," Sōjun murmured.

Hisana chuckled. "I may have told him so."

Sōjun's expression of quiet contemplation morphed into a look of wide-eyed shock. "Did you, really?"

Hisana bowed her head, blushing. "Perhaps."

He laughed. "Mr. Sato, Byakuya's instructor, has been abroad as of late. We have been meaning to locate a substitute."

She cocked her head to the side as she listened to him. "I think his kido is very advanced," she began softly, "it just seems less advanced in comparison to his other skills."

"Ah, I think that is partly to do with the fact that Byakuya enjoys melee combat, flash-step, and little else. His kido has always paled in comparison. His healing kido skills are practically nonexistent."

Hisana's jaw dropped. "Is that true?"

Sōjun gave a long nod of his head. "I am afraid so. He wouldn't know how to heal a paper cut let alone a battle wound."

"How unfortunate."

"Impractical, I'd say. Not every mission requires a medical unit on site."

"That would be unfeasible."

Sōjun shook his head. "Perhaps you could supplement his training?" he said, gazing up in thought.

Hisana flailed slightly. The question had seemingly knocked her off kilter. "Oh, milord, I do not think that would be a good idea. I do not think Byakuya would respect my instruction."

Sōjun listened to her tongue-tied appeal with a gentle expression. Without a word in counter, however, his kind look persuaded her to reconsider. "I will try," she conceded after some verbal fumbling. _'I will try, but no guarantees_,' was more like it. "What if Byakuya refuses?"

"He won't," Sōjun stated quite confidently. "Not now, anyway."


	6. His: Procurement

**Summary:** Sōjun fills a hole in Byakuya's curriculum.

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**His: Procurement**

Obediently, Byakuya crossed the threshold to his father's room in the appropriate manner, dutiful and bowed low. He waited until instructed to assume seiza. "Honorable Father," he said respectfully with head bowed and eyes glued to the tatami mats. He planted his fist between his knees.

"Byakuya, as you know Mr. Sato has been abroad on family business," Sōjun began diplomatically.

"Yes, Father," Byakuya responded mechanically.

"Miss Hisana has been generous to offer her services during the interim."

Byakuya's head jerked up, and he shot his father a pleading stare. His eyes, wide as saucers, spoke of resistance, and his lips quivered as he searched for the sentiments to express his displeasure. "Father?" however, was the only word he could muster.

His voice sounded pathetic even to his ears.

Ignoring his son's silent protest, Sōjun continued: "I believe this is an _opportunity_ for you to continue your training during your instructor's absence." The implication was clear—there was to be no discussion. The family had approved this decision. There was nothing Byakuya could say or do to change the fate that his father had foisted upon him.

Byakuya lowered his head and tensed. He had never worn emotion well, and he expressed it even worse. Fiery bluster and lingering resentment burned his muscles and seized his heart. It was an insult, physical and piercing, to his pride. She was a member of the _Fourth_ of all divisions, and she was practically a _servant_.

"Do you have any matters to discuss with me, Byakuya?" Sōjun asked, lifting his head and giving his son a serene onceover.

Byakuya did have _many_ items to discuss _then_, but his father had made it abundantly clear that his tutelage under Hisana was not open to persuasion. The decision was final. Sōjun was merely extending Byakuya a courtesy by apprising him of the situation before it actually happened.

"No, Father," Byakuya murmured in a strangled breath. His fingers caught in the loose fabric of his hakama, and he fisted his hands in the material. His knuckles turned white under the strength of his grasp, and he shook under the flexion of his muscles, all of which seemly snapped tight at once.

"You are dismissed," Sōjun said gently before turning to the paperwork strewn across his writing desk.


	7. Interlude

**Interlude**

Sōjun made a habit of keeping his door to the garden open. Once his strength returned, he would sit quietly at his desk and work on the Sixth's paperwork. When he felt particularly patient and centered, he tackled the family's business. (He, however, preferred the Sixth's business to the family's expenses.)

Sensing his son's reiatsu, Sōjun leaned back slightly to glimpse Byakuya from the open door. He was training with Hisana, no doubt, Sōjun mused. The trainings had been _interesting_ to watch, to say the least. Byakuya was _motivated_. To what end, exactly? Sōjun was unsure. Hisana, however, had put his son in his place quite a number of times, earning Byakuya's respect in the process.

Sōjun quirked a brow as he watched the two. Both were perfectly amicable toward on another—an improvement. But, they were _not_ training on kido, and this development surprised Sōjun.

Instead, the pair took seiza near the diverted stream. Hisana handed Byakuya a small book and the two bent over the work and began talking. Their voices were too soft to reach Sōjun over the rustling of wind and leaves, but he could tell that Hisana was teasing Byakuya, who took her gentle ribbing in stride. Byakuya retorted, and she chuckled, amused at his observation.

Interested in the development, Sōjun scooted his sitting mat back and watched with lips agape at the sight of _his son_ behaving properly for a spell. Hisana seemingly quieted Byakuya's spirit as they sat closely together. Their heads bent barely a hairsbreadth apart as they read from the book.

Sōjun imagined that they were discussing the work, but he could not discern which book, let alone which passage, occupied the pair's conversation. All he had to fill the void was his own personal conversations with Hisana. She was surprisingly wry and cutting with her observations. Her worldview was much more pessimistic than his own, likely born from her torrid experiences in Inuzuri.

He wondered, briefly, if Byakuya knew her history. Hisana was rather tight-lipped about the details. Sōjun pieced together threads of her past—a mere stitch in what was the tapestry of her life. He relied mostly on the stories that Hisana offered him at his bedside and the dossier that Unohana had provided shortly after he had made his choice. Curiously, Hisana had never told him, directly, that she hailed from Inuzuri, and he had never pressed her on her origins. She told him what her heart could bear, and he respected that decision.

Byakuya, however, would be less forgiving or understanding. His son thought the First District was a hellhole filled with irredeemable heathens.

_What could Byakuya possibly think of the Seventy-Eighth? _

Sōjun inhaled and exhaled with equal measure, and he tensed as he watched the two. Both seemed to regard the other with great fondness as they spoke. If possible, Hisana wore a more captious expression than his own son did, which was a rare sight. He did not blame her, however. He imagined that she was perpetually readying herself for the moment when Byakuya stumbled and reached for his patented hubris in lieu of his newly found humility.

Shockingly, Byakuya never brandished his arrogance against her. Did not even consider it. He was too engaged, too engrossed in the book and their discussion to _remember _that he was the scion to the Kuchiki wealth, prestige, and guaranteed rank and that she was a mere peasant. Indeed, he seemed perfectly genuine as he spoke to her in that tranquil meadow, only a few meters from the stream.

Sōjun tilted his head slightly, and a small smile played across his lips. The couple looked perfectly beautiful, he mused. All gentle glances and smiles. A strong current of happiness welled in his heart for Byakuya. The sweet tranquility that enveloped the pair was pitch-perfect. Sōjun only wished that it would _last_ for Byakuya's sake. It wouldn't, however. And, Sōjun's lips slipped into a frown as he considered the possibility with a more pointed analysis.

The family had tried its best to tame Byakuya. They kept him cloistered and swimming in dogma, and they dangled a position among the Gotei 13 out as some sort of carrot for his compliance. There was nothing that Byakuya lusted after more than the promise of assuming a position among the ranks. Byakuya saw it as a way to honor his family—the family that he loved more than anything else. It was his _duty_ to serve the Sixth. It was his _duty_ to maintain his family's honor and to earn respect and accolades for the sake of the Kuchiki pride. Law, honor, and strict Confucian ethics had sculpted his worldview, and, in the end, nothing would trump his duty-bound heart.

Not even this newfound friendship.

Sōjun never cared for the family's methods. He was too quiet and too peaceful to feel moved by the constant goading and censorious rebukes. Byakuya, however, was more stubborn and fierier than Sōjun, and Byakuya responded with a mixture of compliance and horror when he did not melt perfectly into the mold that the elders had cast for him.

_This fast friendship with a Shinigami from the Rukon Districts will not go over well with the family_.

It was only a matter of time before the family would terminate the relationship if Byakuya errantly chose to pursue it after her discharge. Perhaps the family would stop it before then, and, each day, Sōjun waited with breath firmly caught in his throat for the moment when the proverbial hammer dropped, severing the ties between the sweet youths. Yet, despite his certainty, Sōjun could not help but watch, curious and hopeful as to where the friendship might lead.

Weeks passed, and the two trained. Tempered, Byakuya improved under her instruction.

Weeks passed, and the two continued to speak in sweet shorthand by the stream. Books, poetry, calligraphy, and arts occupied their minds and conversations.

The trainings, while beautiful to watch, rarely captured Sōjun's attention for long. The quiet meetings in the garden, however, _always_ held his gaze. Morbid curiosity rushed through him as he waited with baited breath for Byakuya to ruin the careful serenity that Hisana painted with such ease. It was such a strange sight to behold—watching his son don a quiet look of respect for someone so far beneath his social status.

At that particular moment, Byakuya and Hisana were practicing calligraphy. Byakuya was Hisana's superior in the art, and she submitted gracefully to his instruction. He was a gentle teacher, Sōjun marveled. Byakuya sat close, helping her find the proper pose and rhythm, and he spoke soft encouraging words in her ear.

She blushed at his touch, and he reciprocated her diffidence upon realizing that his hand against hers unsettled her. Perhaps the intimacy unsettled him as well? Hisana, however, was quick to say something—likely a self-deprecating remark—to lessen the tension. The two shared in a laugh before continuing.

Sōjun smiled at the tenderness. Maybe his son was capable of being a husband and a father? As he considered the possibility, he could not help but recall the many elders who were _convinced _Byakuya would end the line. He was too incorrigible, too brash, too haughty, too _much_. But, at that moment, he was a courtly gentleman—thoughts full of art, poetry and nature's splendor. Byakuya seemed perfectly tempered under the heat of Hisana's gaze.

"Sōjun," a low rumble crested over him. The voice rattled his bones, stirred his muscles, and yanked his attention to the door.

There was only one person in the manor who referred to him so informally. "Father?" Sōjun murmured, finding Ginrei lingering at the threshold. "Is something the matter?"

Wordlessly, Ginrei stepped into the room, stopping at the garden door, where he watched the young couple at the stream. The lines of his robes were long, straight, and ordered. His shoulders shifted as his stare deepened, and he clasped his hands behind his back. Moments, long and pregnant with some hidden meaning, passed between the men—silent and uninterrupted. Sōjun could almost _hear _the time as it ticked by. The mood was decidedly dark and _suffocating_ so much so that Sōjun was certain that he was going to choke on the tension if Ginrei did not break it soon. It felt like a noose tightening around his neck.

The soft rustle of Ginrei's robes, however, broke the disagreeable and oppressive calm. He turned and shot Sōjun a discerning sidelong gaze. Ginrei did not appear particularly dissatisfied with Byakuya's current preoccupation. Then again, he did not appear too keen on it either. He wore a neutral expression as he turned back to the door; his attention focused on the couple thoughtfully playing word games with calligraphy.

"Perhaps it is time?" Ginrei said at length. His voice was soft, and his words carried on a long breath. Even though it sounded like a question, it was not. Most of Ginrei's questions were declarative or, _worse_, commands.

Sōjun inhaled a small breath and nodded, ever compliant and ever docile. "Yes, Father."

With a simple answer and nod of his head, Sōjun consented to the hammer and its swift descent.


	8. Hers: Arrangements

**Hers: Arrangements**

"When will Mr. Sato return?" Hisana asked demurely as she tilted the teapot forward. A warm inviting fragrance of jasmine and green tea filled the air.

Sōjun watched in silence until she handed him a cup. "The beginning of this week," he replied softly. His eyes flicked up from the wisps of steam emanating from the porcelain. "Is something the matter?"

Hisana's lips thinned into a small smile. "No." She emphasized her response with a small shake of her head. "I am happy to hear it," she murmured as her gaze trailed to the floor.

"Byakuya can be difficult," Sōjun lamented with a small sigh.

Hisana's gaze shot up, and her eyes widened slightly. "Oh, no, quite the contrary," she said, beaming. "In only a few weeks' time, he has conquered me completely," her voice was low and breathy. Feeling the sting of blush creep across her cheeks, she pressed her lips together, not quite satisfied with the implications of her statement. "I mean—I have taught him all that I know. Your son is very talented and lovely." Her lips snapped shut as the last word escaped her. In silent mortification, she excoriated herself for saying such a thing. "You have raised a very talented son," she added in a quick clipped voice.

Sōjun smiled politely at her compliment.

"I assume that his inheritance will include not only the family's title but the captainship of the Sixth," she said, hoping to sweep away her awkward statements that loomed over the room.

Sōjun nodded. "It is very likely _if_ he can tame his reckless heart."

"He is young," Hisana stated conciliatorily.

"You look to be his age," Sōjun responded thoughtfully, "and you…"

She shook her head. "My path was different. It is an unfair comparison."

A pleasant expression smoothed the lines of his face, and he nodded to himself. "Hopefully, a woman will settle him."

Hisana smiled widely before concealing it behind the sleeve of her kimono. The laugh lines around her eyes, however, betrayed her.

"Do you find that notion absurd?" Sōjun appeared genuinely surprised by her reaction.

She lowered her head and smothered the grin that burned beneath her manufactured look of indifference. "I would imagine that a woman would make him _more_ reckless."

A gentle smile lengthened his lips. "Ah, you are talking about love. Nobles don't marry for love."

Hisana tilted her head to the side, finding the idea curious. "I always forget that nobles marry." Marriage was such a rare occurrence that she never thought about it, and marriage among the peasantry was prohibited. The law was prudent considering that the vast majority of Soul Society's denizens possessed little to no spiritual power and would perish within a few months' time. But, even among the Shinigami, whose social ranks ran the gamut, marriage was uncommon. The nobility married, but they did so sporadically and only when it was required of them. Marriage was solely about protecting the line and creating alliances.

"But you loved your wife," Hisana noted astutely.

"Not at first, and I was lucky."

"An omiai then?" she asked, muddling some herbs together in a fine paste as she spoke.

"An omiai would be too humane," Sōjun chuckled. "The marriage was arranged before he was born."

"So it was _destiny_," she quipped with a wink.

"I doubt Byakuya feels similarly."

Hisana cocked a brow. "Oh?"

"She is dead."

Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. "I am so sorry. I did not mean to—"

Sōjun shook his head. "No. It happened years ago. I very much doubt the two would have been compatible."

Hisana lifted her chin, and she stopped her muddling for a moment. "What happens when the pairing is incompatible?"

Sōjun's gaze trailed to the floor. "Endless gossip and scandal." For a moment, Hisana wondered if he was talking about his own marriage. His brows furrowed over his eyes, and his gaze became remote and unreadable. He appeared to be reliving a sad memory; lost in some unknowable event.

"I suppose that happens anyway," she said, returning to her muddling.

Her voice immediately penetrated his thoughts, and he glanced up at her. "I suppose," he said, flashing an easy smile. His eyes, however, belied his inner turmoil.

"So he gets only one bride-to-be?" Hisana asked, hoping to draw him from his contemplation.

"We are in the process of finalizing the next in line," he answered softly. "Are you interested by chance?" he teased.

Hisana's gaze trailed to the open door, overlooking the courtyard. "It is impolite to mock your dutiful nurse," she retorted slyly, but her attention locked on the young lord practicing his swordplay. She had seen him practicing hundreds of times before, but, suddenly, it felt different. Her heart swerved the moment he turned and caught her gaze. Vivid, brazen even, he captured her with a single glance, and he held it. Seconds, minutes, years could have passed; all she could perceive was her trembling heart and the strange cold fluttering sensation filling her stomach. She had never experienced the foreign feeling, which seemingly caught her breath and stole her sense. She had edged on the feeling several times while reading poetry to the young lord, but, this time, the feeling was effusive.

She wondered if she had ever inspired such a feeling.

"You _have met_ my son," Sōjun murmured, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "He is a hard one to sell."

Hisana whipped her head around to the lord, and she fashioned a small close-lipped smile. Silently, she thanked Sōjun for the distraction. She felt like she would burst if her infatuation had continued much longer. "He will be the," her voice dropped as she bumbled through the number, "head of one of the most esteemed noble houses in all of Soul Society."

Sōjun shook his head. He caught her blunder, but he was too polite to correct her. "A title will not keep you company when you are on your deathbed."

"You, sir, are not on your deathbed," Hisana said brightly, reading his veiled double meaning well. Her eyes flashed up at him, vivid and full of life. "You have me."

Sōjun smiled, not one of his half-hearted placating smiles, but a genuine smile.

"Now, you've had enough tea that tastes good," she teased, taking his cup and filling it with her strange amalgamation.

He frowned as she handed him the concoction. It smelled bitter, and the medicine had turned the water an unflattering shade of brown. "To health," he said raising his glass.

"To health." She smiled sweetly, taking a quaff of her unadulterated tea.


	9. His: Arrangements

**His: Arrangements**

"Is this some type of punishment?" Byakuya growled, staring wildly at his father. His fingers curled into tight fists at his side, so tight that his hands began to shake under the tension.

Sōjun gestured to the sitting mat stationed a few meters in front of him. "Sit, Byakuya," his voice was soft and smooth, like a flat rock under glistening waters.

Byakuya, however, found his father's words and tenor anything _but _refreshing. In fact, just staring at his father sent fiery sparks up and down his spine. He had never felt so betrayed and so enraged at the same time. He wanted to break something, anything, just to release the overwhelming pressure that mounted in his heart. "Why?" he asked, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Byakuya," Sōjun murmured in the deep consolatory tone that only he managed so well, "You knew this would occur eventually. It is a rite of passage."

"I will not submit," Byakuya spat defiantly. He could almost taste the color of his rage—a bright red—as he spoke the words. "I cannot abide this decision."

"It is not your decision, Byakuya."

_It is a courtesy_. Byakuya could almost hear the words ring in his ears. His father did not speak the latter part, but the sentiment was vividly painted across his features and lingering in his cloudy gray eyes. "It is my decision whether or not to attend," Byakuya reminded his father pointedly; his words were sharp, almost blade-like, against his tongue.

Sōjun inhaled a deep breath and closed his eyes.

Something about his father's expression told Byakuya that Sōjun was expecting this reaction. It exhausted him nonetheless. His father's complexion grew grey, and the dark circles framing his eyes appeared to worsen. "Lady Fujibayashi will stay at the manor for a few weeks while her family attends to some business outside the city. If you find her lacking in the feminine virtues then I will interfere on your behalf."

Byakuya jerked his head to the side and stared hard and long at the door. It took every fiber in his body to remain in that room with his father. Each and every fiber burned under his flesh, keeping him tethered to that spot in the middle of the floor.

"Tell me, Byakuya, why do you find this match so unpleasant?" Sōjun lifted his head, and he studied his son with a diplomatic look.

"I do not wish to marry, Father." The answer was surprisingly simple and honest. He was not ready. Whether he rejected the very idea because he felt shackled to his inner childish prejudices or due to his ambitions, he did not know, but there was one thing that was clear: He did not wish to marry. Not then, at least.

"You do not wish to marry because you find the institution appalling? Or, do you not wish to marry Lady Fujibayashi, specifically?"

Byakuya's eyes narrowed, and he dropped his gaze before wheeling around to his father. "I do not wish to marry," he repeated; this time he sounded exasperated. He hated having to explain himself. Often times, _he_ didn't know why he did or didn't _want_ to do something. It was a feeling, and, at that moment, he simply could not resign himself to such a fate. Not yet.

Sōjun coughed into the crook of his elbow for a spell before wiping his mouth with a small linen handkerchief. "You find the institution of marriage detestable," he said softly to himself as if he found the idea quaint. "Unfortunately, Byakuya, that reason will not spare you from this fate. If you marry now, in time, you will warm to the institution and to the Lady. No one is asking you to give your heart to this union. Only your body is necessary to secure the line."

"I do not wish to marry Lady Fujibayashi," Byakuya muttered. The tension only became more palpable when he spoke her name.

Sōjun mustered a faint smile. "Then, who do you wish to marry, Byakuya?" In a lingering breath, his father asked the question that he had feared most. He _knew_ the question would be in play, the moment that he heard the news that his family had chosen his future betrothed.

"I wish to marry someone who is kind and gentle and intelligent."

"Lady Fujibayashi is likely all those things. She takes care of her two younger brothers quite well, and her family has hired tutors in classical literature, haiku, dance, and mathematics to ensure that she will make a well-rounded wife." Sōjun's gaze never hardened, and the reason from his voice never wavered as he spoke.

Byakuya shut his eyes, seething. If anything, his father's diplomacy only stoked the fires burning deep in the pit of his stomach. "I wish to find a woman of my choosing, myself."

Sōjun's smile went from polite to mildly amused. "You would never find a woman then, Byakuya. There are not many suitable women who travel in your social circle. A woman of the Gotei 13 would be inappropriate since she will need to be a wife and mother primarily. The Family has decided against you marrying any of your cousins as they believe it will squander a prime opportunity to expand our reach."

Each word proved to be more insulting than the last, but Byakuya capitulated, realizing that there was no use in arguing. To continue would only distress his ailing father. It would achieve nothing else. "I understand," he said, reserved and remote.

Sōjun shook his head, clearly incredulous of his son's commitment. "I have rescheduled your trainings until after she has left. Enjoy her company while she is here. If you find her undesirable, then I will relieve you of the duty for the time being."

Byakuya stood stock still, refusing to agree or outright refuse the offer. His eyes fixed on the tatami, and his shoulders pulled up in rigid tension. Nothing got in except the misery associated with submission.

"You are dismissed, Byakuya."

He didn't need to be told twice. Without so much as a parting pleasantry, he turned on his heel and crossed into the corridor. Angry steps resonated in the halls and ricocheted throughout his bones. Swiftly, he plucked Senbonzakura from his chambers, and he went to the courtyard to train.

If he could not win the battle, he could try for the war, he reassured himself as he practiced his sword positions. He would not acquiesce so easily. Repetition blotted out the thoughts from his head until only a lugubrious dark emptiness filled him, until the only sensation he could feel was the slow burn of muscle fibers as they pulled and released. Muscle memory kept his thoughts still, kept his heart quiet. He did not rouse from this deadened state until he felt the prickle of a familiar reiatsu flare.

He stopped short, mid-downward stroke. His whole body was slick with sweat, and his robes clung to his moist skin. Beads of perspiration coated his brow and trailed down the sides of his face, matting his inky tresses to his neck and temples.

Panting, he turned to find the sweet gaze that he had come to relish. A cool respite flowed through him, lowering his core temperature and invigorating his senses. How much he wished she had time for him that day, but he was certain that her schedule would be full for the remainder of her stay. He was sure their gentle talks about literature and poetry had set the house against him so violently. He was sure she would leave soon, sooner than he would like.

When she broke his gaze, his heart sank and the darkness invaded his mind again. He felt like he had been thrown into the depths of a raging sea to drown, and drown he did.

"Hisana," he murmured softly to himself, savoring the way her name felt against his tongue and sounded in his ears.

She turned away.

His voice had not reached her.


	10. His: A Stroll

**His: A Stroll**

Darkness crept across the manor, claiming its gardens before streaking the burnished hardwood floors. Tension, too, crawled across the floors and climbed up the walls. Byakuya kept the tension and night at bay with a lamp and a writing brush.

_It was no use_.

The flickering fire only made the shadows dance across the desk and paper; it did not conquer the shade completely. The brush and ink were even more useless for his purposes. If possible, the tightening of the musculature in his writing hand spread like a wildfire across his whole body until every fiber locked.

Byakuya inhaled a deep breath, hoping the night's chill could relieve the pressure building in his chest and head. It did not. If only, it made the aching worse, piercing his lungs.

He leaned back slightly to glimpse the night through the open door. He kept door to the garden slightly ajar. The thick air proved difficult to breathe. _A storm?_ he wondered. The firmament was cloudy. The silvery light of moonbeams and starlight could not pierce the velvety blanket.

Without thought or reason, he stood and drew the door back. Every joint and ligament cried out as he moved. He had grown stiff sitting at his writing desk. He had grown stiff because he could not bring himself to practice his calligraphy. Not a single line marked his fresh paper. Only a blank white page stared back at him from across the room.

_The expectation was oppressive._

He crossed the threshold and stepped into the night. The walkway felt damp from the humidity lingering in the breeze. He could almost _smell_ the dew on the grass as his feet traced an unfamiliar path to a never before visited space in the manor.

"Miss Hisana," he murmured, knocking lightly at her door. The faint noise of papers rustling answered his call. Likely, she was reading a textbook, one of the thick strangely made tomes from the World of the Living.

In due course, she slid back the door. "Sir Kuchiki?" she called. Her wide eyes gleamed up at him. She wore her surprise well, quickly channeling it into a sweet smile. "Is all well?"

"Will you join me for a stroll?" The offer was unplanned. The words just sort of tumbled out of his mouth, but he did not waver in his delivery. It sounded perfectly intentional to his ears.

Her smile widened, and she bowed gracefully. "My honor," she said before standing.

Silence filled the spaces between them as they wandered the winding paths of the Kuchiki estate. Byakuya found it difficult to begin. Words, elusive and fluttering, beat across his tongue and filled his mouth, but he swallowed them with equal measure. Finely spun phrases eluded him, and the thought of breaking the serenity of the night with inconsequential banter proved unpleasant in his mind.

She seemed perfectly contented to travel under the shade of darkness and silence. Her eyes brightly caught any stray light, and they lit as she changed her gaze, which was frequent. The flora and wildness of woods enchanted her more so than all the comforts and finery of the manor.

In a graceful arch, she turned her head, and she fixed him in her gaze. A look of unrestrained happiness smoothed the lines of her face. She bowed her head in thanks for allowing her such a lovely pleasure.

Reflexively, he brushed his hand against hers. Her skin was so soft, like a finely spun silk, and she responded by curling her fingers around his warm hand. His breath hitched at the quick pressure, and he reciprocated until his hand had captured hers. She was so small and delicate, and he wondered if it was _wrong_ to touch her without purpose. It did not feel particularly _wrong_; although, Byakuya was rather hard pressed to determine what emotion he felt.

She smiled at him, a tender close-lipped smile. And they paused. He had not realized it at first. The world seemed to move around him, but _they _were stationary.

He turned and clasped both of her hands in his. He wanted so badly to say or do something, something worthy of breaking the night's tranquil spell. But he came up empty at every turn.

"It is raining, Sir Kuchiki," she murmured softly. Her bright eyes lifted to the inky sky. Drops fell against her pale cheeks.

It began slowly and innocently enough—_one drop, two drops, three drops—_before the torrent bore down upon them. When the heavens finally opened, the water fell in violent sheets, drenching them.

He grabbed her, pulling her tightly against him. She submitted willingly, eagerly, lifting her head and holding his stare. Her lips parted, airing a silent expectation, and he obliged.

Her mouth tasted bitter and sweet, and it was so warm. His kisses were fluttering, soft starts and stops, and she would tease him when he pulled away. When he caught her lips again, he deepened the kiss. His urgency, primal and instinctual, pulled at the chains of his propriety, the locks of which were beginning to warp and bend.

His hands gripped her shoulders tightly, and he knew her pale milky skin would mark against his pressure. Gracelessly, he yanked the collar of her yukata down. The fabric, heavy from the rain, gave way with little effort, and his lips pressed against her sensitive neck, tracing the contour of an elegant slope.

She moaned softly, and her fingers caught in his damp hair. "Sir Byakuya," she cried against his ear when his hands slid down to her slim waist.

He closed his eyes at the sound of her voice calling his name. Every nerve in his body fired, he was sure. He felt electric—a ball of humming noise and clicks. His blood pounded in his veins, and his heart rattled free and caught in his teeth. All he could feel was her warmth burning against his skin. All he could smell was her jasmine perfume. All he wanted was for them to become seamless. Their reiatsu were already uniting, blending and infusing until their auras had created a new color. It was no longer white and red; it was the color of cherry blossoms in spring; it was the color of his release.

"Sir Byakuya," she mewled as his fingers fisted against her obi.

Propriety froze his muscles. He knew the knots and how to untie them. He knew every knot that kept her confined in that thin robe, but he could not complete the act.

He pulled away and studied her through the veil of rain. Her skin was slick, and her hair splayed across her shoulders, clinging to her robes. Her countenance was pale save for her flushed cheeks.

"Sir Byakuya," she said. This time his name met him as a plea. Her hands reached up and cupped the sides of his face. Large dark eyes locked his, and her brows furrowed. Grief darkened her features, but, before he could register the pain coloring her visage, she buried her head in his chest.

"Hisana," he murmured against her wet tresses as he pulled her into a tight embrace.

The hunger pained him physically more than he could have imagined possible, and it grew with each passing moment. He wondered if it could ever be sated. Even if he had her, he was certain he would require more. He was certain there was no bottom to his desperate need to keep her bound to him.

"Forgive me."

He returned her to the manor, and he crossed over the threshold to her room, where he undressed her. He had promised himself to help her find a suitable house gown and leave. But, drying her in that intimate space had proven to be his downfall. He could not choke back his desire any longer.

He had been right before. Once was not enough. It wasn't just the act that he craved, it was the desire to unite. It was the need and want to bask in her essence. It was consuming and overpowering, and he wondered if it was endless.

When the morning broke, he crawled back to his chambers. He did not have the time to set his futon before his personal attendant called him. A meek, "Your presence is requested in the counsel hall."

Compliantly, Byakuya changed and marched toward the specified location. When he entered the room, he started at the sight of his father, his grandfather, and a young noblewoman standing in the middle of the floor.

"Lady Fujibayashi, please meet Byakuya." His father's voice betrayed his identity, loud and vibrant.

Byakuya closed his eyes and turned his head in disgust.

_No_, his father did not know of Byakuya's sudden and deep infatuation. Sōjun could not have. Byakuya was sure. Otherwise, to pull him from his chambers and to expose him would have been _cruel_, and his father was not a cruel man. Not in the slightest.

"Lord Kuchiki," she called and bowed.


	11. Hers: A Stroll

**Hers: A Stroll**

It was late when Hisana returned to her room. Suddenly, the space around her seemed expansive. She had not realized just how _small_ she was in comparison. Until recently, she had not considered herself at all. Her thoughts and ambitions consumed her, whorled around her mind to the exclusion of all else. But, now, she felt acutely aware of herself and how much space she took up in the palatial estate.

_Had there always been this much emptiness?_

She made a quick comparison of the chamber to her apartment at the Fourth. Indeed, this room was _grand_. Yet, it did not quite account for why she felt so diminutive so abruptly.

_No matter._

She shook her head, hoping to cast off the thought like a line into the water.

_But…_

She could not deny that she had taken to comparing herself to _everything_ as of late. In every instance, she found herself wanting. She was not as refined or as regel as the court ladies, who paraded through the inner sanctum of the estate. Her heart was not as submissive as the servants that lined the corridors. She did not possess much of anything except regret, and what she did possess was meager and broken.

Hisana inhaled a deep breath. _Work_. The word etched into her mind's eye, drowning out the deluge of hurtful thoughts swelling in her head. _Yes, work._

Noiselessly, she crossed the floor to the small writing desk located in the corner near the door to the garden. She dropped to her knees in a soundless motion, and she flipped back the cover to the last medical text that she had not read. It was the thickest with the fewest diagrams and the smallest print.

With tortuous thoughts rankling inside her brain, she pressed on. The time it took for her to read a single chapter increased twofold. By chapter two, she was breathless and agitated from the loathing that stormed inside her heart, trampling the barriers that she had spent a lifetime constructing. Tonight was one of _those _nights, where nothing she did could tide the immense grief she harbored from sins committed eons ago.

Not that grief was ever more than a stone's throw away from her thoughts. It resided deep inside her—a constant companion—no matter how many times she tried to exorcise it. She was a haunted woman. A _void_.

A sharp crackle of knuckle against wood scattered her thoughts, startling her. Her heart thumped hard in her chest, and she shuddered.

"Miss Hisana."

Wide eyed, her gaze fixed on the door to the garden. The rich baritone pierced the flimsy barrier with ease, as if it were nonexistent. Not a single syllable had been stifled, and when it reached her, filling her ears and sparking the neurons in her brain, her heartbeat sped in pace. She knew that voice. Her brain lit in recognition. But, she questioned herself. _No. It cannot be._ The night was so late, and no one other than the female servants ever came to her room.

Hesitantly, she closed her textbook and stacked her notes in an orderly pile before opening the door. "Sir Kuchiki?" The name flashed on her tongue, and her heart skipped a beat the moment her eyes met his. She had not gone mad. Not at all.

"Will you join me for a stroll?"

She blinked, confused. His words did not seem to match his expression. He watched her with a practiced look of austerity, but his voice vacillated at the word "stroll." In fact, if she was not mistaken, he seemed a little on edge at the intimacy of the offer. Joining him on one of his nightly strolls was a _privilege_; she was sure. Likely, it was a privilege that he did not extend to everyone or, perhaps, _anyone_. She had never seen him take his nightly walks in the company of another in her many months at the manor.

Hisana lifted her head and mustered a smile through her confusion. When the offer finally sank in, she quickly countered with a delicate bow. "My honor," she murmured to the floor. Sitting up, she gave a resolute nod of her head before standing.

He reciprocated her action, and, holding the door open for her, he waited for her to step onto the walkway before shutting the door behind her. She smiled at him. Her eyes radiated the warmth from the overhead lanterns as they continued toward the thicket lining the property.

Quietly, they wound their way through the garden and down wandering paths through the deep woods. Hisana took in every detail, committing every branch and fluttering flower to memory. The sounds of crickets chirping and bullfrogs singing filled her ears. The sweet smell of dewy foliage and pine imbued her. Even the sensation of her feet against the moist dirt proved intoxicating. The natural grandeur enchanted and invigorated her in a way that manmade goods did not. While she would be the first to sing the praises of the tasteful elegance of Kuchiki manor, the finery did not move or inspire her. She found it _oppressive_. The thick silks made it hard to breath and move. The etiquette stifled her, chilling her soul. The strange customs set her on edge. But, as she admired the beauty of the wilderness, she felt free and expansive. She felt whole.

Perhaps, she would always be some wild untamable creature. No matter the trying, she could never shed the fact that she would always be the dirty Rukon slum dog that loved to wander unfettered and unencumbered through the thicket of life. She wondered if she could ever settle or if she was forever a bird searching for its perch.

These thoughts swirled in her head. Round and round the blossoms went, quick and effortlessly flitting every which way until the gust abruptly stopped and everything in her body went silent.

_His hand_.

She glanced down to find his hand brushing against hers. The sensation was tentative, fleeting. Her heart seized for a flicker, and, before she could mediate on an appropriate response, her inner wild child burst forward, and she curled her little finger around his. Reflexively, his hand enveloped hers. His palm was so warm and so strong in comparison. He fit her like a glove.

Hisana closed her eyes and inhaled a deep fragrant breath. The earthy scents of petrichor and rosewood infused her, and she flushed. An unspeakable heat seared through her, traveling up and down her spine before shooting into her limbs and settling in her chest. Her body seized in retaliation, and her breath hitched in her chest. The sharpness of the air pierced her lungs. Her legs refused to take another step, and he obliged her unspoken request, turning to face her and taking her hands in his.

Staring into his face, she smiled. He seemed so sincere, so unassuming. In that moment, the unfeeling mask that he wore so effortlessly cracked, and, piece by piece, it fell to the ground, revealing a gentle heart.

She studied him with an eager look. The moment felt perfect until the sky began to open. It began slowly. A drop hit her cheek. A few seconds later, another drop.

"It is raining, Sir Kuchiki," she murmured, unable to break her transfixion. His gaze had bewitched her, and she did not want to risk losing the warm feeling that had bubbled in her heart.

He did not say a word in response. Perhaps he had not heard her? She considered the possibility for a moment. The wind had picked up, and the susurrus of leaves overwhelmed the once charming sounds of twilight.

Her lips quivered under the weight of words expanding in the back of her throat, but the rain proved to be louder than her thoughts, louder than her better judgment. An angry squall pulled at their robes and played in their hair. Raindrops, once so playful and so light, poured from the sky.

In only a few moments, the two stood soaked. Yet, they continued to stand, staring deeply into the other's eyes. Squalls and torrents did not separate them. They weathered both with little thought or care.

_Byakuya_.

He reached out and clasped her shoulders. His hands, callused and large against her thin robes, bled warmth into her skin. In a swift movement, he pulled her into a tight embrace, and she followed his guidance without hesitation. She _wanted_ so badly to submit. Every nerve and muscle cried out for sweet relief, panged to be dulled by his warmth and protection.

Pressed against him, she rested her head on his chest, and she inhaled. He smelled so warm, like grass, woods and the wild. And, his body felt like a fluttering furnace against hers. Heat, smoldering and heady, surged through her cold wet flesh before pooling in her stomach, and she could hear the steady beat of his heart. It was strong and slow, melodic.

She could have made a home in those arms and against him. A lovely, peaceful place, but she broke away. Lifting her head, she fixed him with her gaze. When he locked eyes with her, a wild look flickered across his face, lighting his eyes and darkening his features. She knew that expression well. While never aimed at her, she knew of the predilections of powerful men with equally powerful desires.

Her heart trembled when she realized that she was brandishing the same wanton stare. Recklessly, her lips parted as the words expanded in her mouth—words that mirrored the feeling painted across his visage.

He leaned down.

She did not move. She should have moved, she later told herself. But she could not muster the energy. Perhaps she did not mind his advances. Perhaps she wanted it. Had always secretly wanted it.

The anticipation of being kissed elicited a strange feeling; she had to admit, having no experience in such matters. Her body felt unwieldy and leaden. A strange but pleasurable bubble swelled in her stomach and expanded into her chest. Through half-lidded eyes, however, she was acutely aware of her pounding heart, eagerly drumming a beat so heavy that it resounded in every fiber of her being.

Her body felt like it was humming.

Slowly, she reciprocated his nearness. Tilting her head slightly, she could feel his breath skate across her skin. It was warm and fragrant. Instinctively, she parted her lips and let her eyelids lower.

His lips were soft and gentle, and his mouth tasted of sweet rice and spice. Tentatively, he pulled away, and she could tell he was apprehensive. When he leaned down to kiss her again, she startled for a moment before obliging him. This time, the kisses were faster, harder, more searching, and hungry, and she matched him, just as fast, as hard, as searching, and as hungry. Nothing would slake her yearning, she was sure, and she didn't want it to stop.

Leaning up, she closed what little space divided the two, and she deepened the kiss, stoking the fire that not even the deluge could extinguish.

Somewhere, somehow, she lost herself. The world went dark, peeling away layer by layer. The rain did not register. The sounds of wind and droplets hitting newly formed puddles of water did not distract her. All she could sense was the feeling of his lips, hot and eager, against her neck, and the sensation of his thumb pulling down the collar of her yukata.

"Sir Byakuya," she moaned the moment she felt his hands drop from her shoulders to below the dip of her ribcage. He grabbed her tightly, and she relished the pressure of his hands gripping her waist and the sensation of his fingers digging into her flesh.

She arched against him, and her eyes opened. The sheets of water fell like diamonds against the tenebrous blue shades of twilight. It was lovely. All of it. And she wished to capture the memory forever.

His fingers caught in her obi, and she closed her eyes, ready for him to complete the act that enervated the fine musculature of his hands. When she felt him hesitate, she cried his name against his ear, hoping her voice could ignite his courage.

He did not. He could not. Propriety stayed him, tied his desires, and beat him down.

Shaking against the chill of rain of nightfall, she pried her eyes open as she felt his warmth recede from her body. Breathless, she met his stare. He looked stunning cloaked in wet robes and shrouded in midnight. His skin glistened a silvery blue, and his inky black tresses splayed across his broad shoulders.

"Sir Byakuya," she murmured, reaching up and cupping the sides of his face. Desperately, she wanted him to continue, but she could not air such shameful feelings no matter how intensely she felt them.

"Hisana," his voice was low and throaty. Physical pain and longing etched into his fair pale countenance. Without a word, he pulled her fast against his chest and buried his head in her hair. "Forgive me," he whispered.

She balled her hands in his robes. Right then, she could not fathom forgiving him. Her heart ached in her chest, and an irresistible sensation of pure unbridled _want_ pooled deep in her core. But, before she could castigate him for his cruelty, he swept her up, and they were traveling at great speeds.

He returned her to the manor, where he gently helped her disrobe, moving away when she let the drenched cloth fall from her shoulders. "Sir Kuchiki," her lips quivered in the oppressive darkness. She rocked back on her heel and turned into the warmth of a heavy towel. Tenderly, he wrapped her body in the thick material, and he rubbed her arms through the cloth.

She lifted her head, blushing. "You didn't," she began, but he cut her off with a shake of his head. 

_He did have to do this_, she thought to herself.

She very well could not have gone fumbling through the labyrinthine Kuchiki manor dripping wet. She would have alerted every servant in the house, and there would have been questions. So many penetrating questions and burning stares. Who goes for a walk during a typhoon? No one sensible, that's who. A crazy person! And, the House would not stand for a clearly maddened person to take care of their heir apparent.

"Sir Kuchiki," she began again, not knowing quite what do say, "thank you."

He kissed her. _Hard_. _Fast_. _Passionately_.

Hisana's hands deftly pulled the ties to his robes, and she pulled him down to her futon. She would not be denied any longer, and he was in no mood to refuse.

A piercing mid-morning sun seeped through the soft darkness of her slumber, forcing her eyelids back and stinging her eyes. Blinking, she stared up to find the sun high in the sky. _Oh no!_ She sprung up into a seated position. _I am bare_.

Her heart plummeted to her stomach. Cold realization crashed over her. _It wasn't a dream._ Her eyes widened, and her breath hitched in her throat. No, it had not been a fantasy either. She remembered all too keenly the sensation and weight of his body against hers. The heat of his skin against hers still burned her. The warmth of his lips still licked across her neck and clavicles. The carnal ecstasy of her release pooled deep within her. For a blissful moment, endorphins coursed through her veins, dulling her mind and assuaging her heart.

"Miss Hisana?"

Hisana's head snapped up, and her eyes shot up to the door. One of the female servants pulled the door back, and she returned Hisana's stare.

"Yes," Hisana mumbled belatedly. Her brain was slow to rouse from her hormone-induced stupor.

"It is good that you could rest," she said, bright-eyed and gently through the crack in the door.

Hisana forced a small smile at the kindness of the servant's words. "Please, accept my apologies. I did not mean to be dilatory. I am so sorry." She bowed, arms stretched out gracefully as she bent to the floor.

The servant shook her head. "Do not concern yourself, Miss Hisana. Lord Sōjun has been detained on family business for the last few hours."

"Oh?" Hisana murmured.

"Yes, we have the pleasure of entertaining Sir Byakuya's betrothed for the next few weeks."

Shock swept through Hisana, brutal and complete. _How could I have been so stupid?_


End file.
